


Built Like A Moth, You See

by harpydora



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: FatT Rarepair Swap, Fluff, Hieron Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harpydora/pseuds/harpydora
Summary: Frond finds Throndir later, at the edges of Old Man's Chin; the slope of his shoulders indicates some form of distress. He pads toward the elf, taking care not to startle when he chitters, "May I have a seat near you?"





	Built Like A Moth, You See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnitchNightly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnitchNightly/gifts).



> My gift for [@SnitchNightly](https://twitter.com/SnitchNightly) for the FATT Rarepair Swap! When I saw Throndir/Frond on your list, I couldn't help myself. I hope you enjoy!

Frond finds Throndir later, at the edges of Old Man's Chin; the slope of his shoulders indicates some form of distress. He pads toward the elf, taking care not to startle when he chitters, "May I have a seat near you?"

Throndir glances up, his disappointment clear on his face for a moment before he hides it behind a pained half-smile. "Sure, yeah. I'm not here to tell people where they can sit in their own home town."

"You look upset," Frond says quietly as he perches on the tree stump next to Throndir. "What is wrong?"

Letting out a sad sort of chuckle, Throndir shakes his head. "I was trying to help Red Jack, but I think I just made things worse. He doesn't want to see me today."

"Oh." Something twists in Frond's chest, and it takes a moment for him to name it: disappointment of his own. But what does he have to be disappointed about? Is it merely in sympathy to Throndir's own disappointment?

Frond sets that thought aside. First and foremost, he must try to cheer up Throndir. "Sometimes Red Jack can be mysterious. I'm certain it has nothing to do with your company." He pauses, then adds, "I like your company. Very much."

This elicits another smile—sad, but not quite so sad as before. A step in the right direction. "Thanks," he says. "I like your company, too."

*

Frond finds Throndir in a clearing, firing arrows at a tree across the way. Though he's no expert, even he can tell that Throndir's technique is good. They're all bunched together in the side of one tree, and there are none that appear stuck in the snow or other trees nearby. He decides to announce his presence by way of commenting on Throndir's skill, "You are very good at what you do."

Throndir lowers his bow and turns to face Frond. The focused expression gives way to a grin. Frond had obviously picked the correct thing to say. "Thanks. I wouldn't be the ranger if I wasn't good with a bow, you know?" He extends his arm toward Frond and beckons him closer. "Why don't you show me what _you_ can do?"

The offer takes Frond aback, but he doesn't step away. Despite the way his heart suddenly flutters, he steps forward. "I am not as good with the bow as I am my dagger. Which is not as good as your friends, I think." He laughs, a high and nervous sound. Why does proximity to Throndir make him feel this way?

"Oh, you can't be that bad. C'mon, show me what you've got and I'll help you get better. How's that sound?" Throndir punctuates his offer with a dazzling grin.

It's impossible to ignore the pull of that grin, so Frond stops trying. He steps forward and takes Throndir's offered bow. It's heavier than he expects, but not so heavy that he can't lift it into position. He gives the string an experimental tug. The draw is heavier than he's used to as well. "I am not sure I will be proficient," he tells Throndir.

"Aww, just give it a shot." Throndir hands him an arrow. "Just aim where I've been aiming and let's see how it goes."

Reluctantly, Frond takes the arrow and nocks it. Then, he takes aim and lets it fly.

The arrow goes wide, missing the tree entirely and burying itself in the snow on the other side of the clearing. If it had flown in the correct direction, it still would have fallen short. He sighs and makes to hand Throndir's bow back, but Throndir pushes it in his direction again.

"I think I see what's wrong here," Throndir tells him, not unkindly. "How about you try again, and this time I'll help you out?"

"Alright." Frond nocks another arrow but doesn't draw the string just yet.

Throndir steps behind him. "Okay, let's see…" He reaches forward and touches Frond's elbow.

Frond freezes. His heart pounds, a fast staccato in his chest.

Thronder arranges Frond's arms with gentle touches at his elbows and wrists, then places a palm flat on the small of Frond's back while his other hand adjusts Frond's shoulders. That he doesn't notice the way Frond struggles to keep breathing is a miracle; one that Frond refuses to question.

Once he's satisfied, Throndir steps away. "There. Try to hit the target now."

Frond draws the arrow back, careful to hold his posture. When he lets it go this time, the arrow finds its mark.

*

Throndir finds Frond on the edge of the settlement, perched on a tree stump. "Can I sit here?" he asks, gesturing to the space next to Frond. Startled, Frond nods. He shifts over to make more room for Throndir, who plops himself inelegantly next to him.

"Are you troubled?" he asks when Throndir does not say anything further.

"No, not exactly," Throndir responds, though he does look pensive. "I just thought it'd be nice to sit next to you for a little bit."

Frond nods again; the feeling is mutual. He keeps that to himself, though. Instead, he says, "Are you worried about Red Jack?"

"A little." Throndir shakes his head. "I'm a little more worried about you. Red Jack is strong, and he's been around forever. But you died once already."

Frond shrugs. "It was not so bad."

"Frond…" There's a pleading quality to Throndir's voice that gives Frond pause. He's worried— _really_ worried, like he'd said.

"Throndir?"

"I don't know how to say this, but…" Throndir reaches up, strokes his cheek with his thumb, then traces his mandibular palpi. Frond shivers and, despite himself, turns into the touch. Throndir is so _warm,_ Frond realizes. A quiet flame in the chilly night that he can't turn away from. Except flames are dangerous and Throndir is gentle. So _this_ is what he's been feeling, what's driven his racing pulse and his shortened breath and the stab of something indescribable in his chest.

"When… when elves feel like this, we kiss each other," Throndir tells him. "But I don't know what… what you all do."

"I will show you." Frond leans down and rubs his cheek against Throndir's, lets his antennae brush over his eyes and forehead. Throndir giggles, and Frond pulls back. "Is the tradition humorous?" he asks, trying not to feel hurt.

"No, no, it's nice," Throndir says. "It just… It tickles. But I wouldn't mind it if you did it again."

Heart in his throat, Frond obliges.


End file.
